


The Last Dragon

by loftyperch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Humor, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Romance, Soap Opera, Some Slash, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-07-29 08:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16260293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loftyperch/pseuds/loftyperch
Summary: Jaime literally has to rescue a princess from a tower.





	1. The Children

**Author's Note:**

> I heard a theory on the youtubes that Dany and Jon will both die after having a child, and that Jaime's final act of redemption will be to save said child. So I ran with it.
> 
> Not at all how I actually think Season 8 will end, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Higher ratings and more ships to come. I'll add the OFC tag when she's old enough to have a personality :3
> 
> I own nothin', Jon Snow.

Jaime was fighting, back-to-back with Brienne in a terrifying parody of a ballroom dance, when a blow struck his helm and he fell. The world went dark, and he was sure he’d died ingloriously in the icy mud outside Winterfell, cut down by a nameless dead man. But he didn’t die, only dreamt for a moment while Brienne grabbed him by the gorget and dragged him behind the shield line. 

He dreamt of Rhaegar in all his beauty and doom. The prince held his golden hand with a grip so hot it burned all the way to Jaime’s shoulder.

“You failed me,” Rhaegar said, disappointed.

“I had to do it!” Jaime fell to his knees before his prince. He tried to pull his hand back but couldn’t, tried to look away but couldn’t.

“Not Aerys!” Rhaegar bellowed. “The children!”

Jaime snapped awake, and his arm was still burning, ears still ringing.

“Brienne!” He seized her shoulder as she helped him up. He brought their visors together as if whispering in her ear but still had to shout to be heard. “With me!” He didn’t wait while she threw a guilty look back at the shrieking chaos beyond the shields. He just ran, knowing she would follow.

This was the largest army ever assembled in human history, and the front line was a long way from the gates of Winterfell - though they’d lost more than half the ground they started with. Daenerys’ dragons made a tight bank around the keep, the king and queen on their shoulders, and took aim for another strafe along the flanks of the dead army. They’d grounded the Night King’s dragon by ripping off one of its wings, but dared not make another pass so close to the White Walkers’ javelins, practically grounded themselves.

 _Your sister,_ thought Jaime as they soared past, _your son._ He pressed on to the gates, aware at last of how to make amends for his crimes. _I wasn’t there for them. Or Viserys or Rhaenys or Aegon or Elia or Lyanna._ Tears sprang to his eyes. _Or Joff or Myrcella or Tommen._

As they approached the castle, Tyrion called down to them from the battlements.

“What’s wrong?”

“Get down here, we’ll need you!”

They waited a moment for Tyrion to descend the stairs, and then they were off again. Brienne was huffing and slowing, but Jaime was propelled by forces much greater than his own strength, by fear and guilt and ghosts.

They passed Lady Sansa where she stood in consult with Royce and Wolken. Jaime didn’t ask her to join them, but she did anyway. He led them all, down a path he’d walked before, to the broken tower. And up they climbed until they reached the cursed room where he’d once tried to kill a boy of ten. _The children._

The room had been made more comfortable with a bed and brazier and cradle. At the window stood Tarly’s wildling girl, their little boy clutching her skirts. On the bed sat Daenerys’ handmaiden. And in the cradle slept the little princess, barely two weeks old and already looking like her mother.

“We’ve got to get out of Winterfell,” he announced as calmly as he could so as not to frighten the women or the children. _The children._

“Why?” Arya Stark emerged from a shadow, hand on her dagger.

“I don’t think we can win this fight. And if we lose, then we cannot let the dead have this baby.”

Without a word of argument, the three ladies accepted this painful truth and set to work. By then everyone else had reached the room in varying degrees of exhaustion.

“I told Jon to send her away days ago,” panted Sansa, motioning for Gilly to stop gathering linens and food, “but he refused.”

“So what?” snapped Arya. “This is no place for a baby. You knew it, the Kingslayer knows it.”

“I meant don’t bother packing. I kept a wagon loaded and waiting in case he changed his mind. Just wrap her up and run.”

“I’ll ready the horses then.” With a curt nod, Arya leapt from the window.

Jaime went pale at the sight.

“She’s fine,” Brienne assured him, pulling him back to the stairs. “We need more men.”

“We need more _fighters,_ ” he corrected, collecting himself.

All the surest fighters were outside the gate, taking it in turns to mow down the wights and rest. Beric, Tormund, Jorah, Clegane, Bronn, and Grey Worm were all at or beyond the shield line. The commanders like Royce and Lady Mormont and Davos were on or near the wall and just as likely as the men on the ground to refuse to abandon their posts. The best they could expect were squires, so they made for the armory where Pod and his fellows were scraping blood and mud from damaged armor before tossing it in a pile for hasty repair.

Pod was at Brienne’s heels almost before she’d summoned him. Jaime cast about for anyone else they could trust, and saw only the young blacksmith who spent so much time with the little she-wolf.

“You there, your lady needs you!”

Like Brienne, the boy looked guilty for leaving, but did not refuse.

Just as Jaime was turning away to search elsewhere, he caught a flash of starlight among all the dull, dirty cloaks crowded around the pile of dull, dirty armor. It was a silver brooch in the shape of a falling star, and above it was a face both familiar and frightening.

“You, too,” Jaime commanded. 

The boy nodded as if he knew exactly why Jaime had to save him. Perhaps he did know.

Together they ran for the stables.


	2. 12 Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime leads the flight from Winterfell.

Tyrion and Jaime huddled over a hastily sketched map, barely visible in the late afternoon beneath the everpresent storm clouds.

“You can leave through the south gate. It’s held entirely by the Unsullied, and, in theory, they’ll heed my command without question.”

“I do wish you’d come with us. You’re no use here - no wildfire up your sleeve this time.”

“You’ll make better time on the road, but the Wolfwood might be safer.” Tyrion ignored the insult and the offer alike.

“Just get us out the gate and let me worry about the rest. And don’t forget to come find us if the living prevail.”

“ _When_ the living prevail.”

“When.” They both sounded more certain than they were.

Jaime gathered all the travelers together around the wagon and, for the first time, questioned the sanity of this plan. So many people were placing their lives in his hand (and not even his _good_ hand). But then Rhaegar whispered to him again, _the children,_ and it struck him that he was the oldest person in the stable. He found a measure of comfort in the role of elder brother. A hero, he could never be. A big brother, he already was.

“Lady Brienne and I will take the lead, followed by the squires. Lord Tarly will drive the wagon with his family and the princess. Missandei will follow them. Lady Arya and her blacksmith will take up the rear.” Everyone nodded in understanding. He searched their eyes for any doubt, and found none. “Let’s form up.”

At the front of the caravan, Jaime spoke more softly to those riding nearest him.

“Brienne of Tarth, I don’t believe you’ve met Edric Dayne, squire to Beric Dondarrion and Lord of Starfall.”

“We did meet once, when I was five or so.” Somehow still a gentlemen after all his years in the Brotherhood, the little lord took Brienne’s hand and kissed it, standing in his stirrups to reach across to her. “You may not remember, my lady, but I could never forget.”

Jaime bristled when he saw Brienne blush and, almost wishing he hadn’t brought the boy along, changed the subject.

“Pod … you’ve served my family and my friends for many years with honor and courage, but I must ask one more service of you.”

“Anything, ser.”

“Take this.” Jaime unbuckled his sword belt and laid Widow’s Wail across Pod’s lap. “It’s wasted on me.”

“I couldn’t …” Pod stammered.

“And think of a better name for it, would you?”

“I … I’ll try, ser.”

They were met with no resistance from the Unsullied, only some approving salutes. What stopped them, halfway through the south gate, was the wail of a dying dragon and the glow of blue fire over the northern wall. Most everyone shifted in their saddles, their first impulse always to run toward the fight. Even the Unsullied troops, obedience incarnate, seemed to wonder for a moment whether they should abandon their post and rally to their cause.

A runner arrived within a moment, shouting news from atop the wall.

“The queen is fallen!”

A weak scream escaped Missandei before she clapped her hands over her face. The Unsullied bowed their heads.

“Taken prisoner by the dead!” The runner sped on his way, repeating the tragedy as he went. “The queen is fallen! Taken prisoner by the dead!”

Before he was out of earshot a second runner chased after him.

“The shield line is breached! The dead dragon approaches the keep!”

“Ride! Now!” Tyrion ordered with all the force of a true Hand.

“Not without you!” Jaime heard himself arguing, though he knew there was no time for it. “What do you think Daenerys would prefer, a pile of ash, a very short wight, or a trusted ally at her daughter’s side?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime could see the Stark women in a similar conflict further down the stalled, faltering line of horses.

“It’s our home,” cried Sansa.

“It’s lost!” screamed Arya, practically pulling her sister from her steed to stop her running back.

“Don’t think of the princess, then” Jaime tried a different, desperate tack, “or your queen. Think of your wife. Don’t let her die here.”

With a growl befitting a lion, Tyrion gave in. He turned his horse and went to speak sense to Sansa. As soon as Jaime saw them fall in line behind Missandei, he struck a furious pace down the road.

The going was hard in the unpacked snow, more starting to fall as the Others’ victory took hold behind them. 

An unnatural wind swirled up soon after they lost sight of Winterfell, and an unnatural scream tore the air. It was Jon’s green dragon, clouds curling around its wings, making a much hastier escape than their own.

Jaime half expected the dread thing to be dead and carrying the Night King to cut them off. But even worse ... the dragon lived and had no rider at all.


	3. A Horse and a Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A charming little B&B.

They made camp first chance they got after nightfall, in an abandoned farmhouse with just enough roof left to keep out the storm.

The squires built a big fire, and the Starks packed all the window frames with snow to keep in the heat. Gilly changed and nursed the princess while Tarly rationed out bread and cheese and sausage for supper. Missandei and the smith hobbled the horses on the lee side of the house and fed them from a bucket of oats. Tyrion laid out all the bedrolls they’d brought, overlapping them to fit in the cramped space. Jaime and Brienne took first watch at the door.

“Thank you,” he said without looking at her, afraid he’d find scorn or pity looking back at him. “I know how hard it must have been to run.”

“How did you know we would lose? We were holding our own as near as I could tell.”

“I didn’t … I …” How foolish would he sound if he told her the truth? Brienne was a practical woman, and he admired her for it. He didn’t want her to think he believed in visions or fantasies. But he _did_ believe, and he could never lie to her. “I heard a voice. Rhaegar’s voice.”

“What did it say?”

“‘The children.’” He finally looked at her, and she seemed neither dismissive nor mocking, only concerned.

She reached for him, and Jaime’s heart leapt, thinking she meant to caress his face or even kiss him. Another fantasy; all she did was touch his head where it was swollen and crusted with dried blood. He flinched away, only now realizing how much it still hurt.

“I’m glad you listened to it.”

“I’m glad you came with me.” He phrased his next question carefully. “If the Stark girls had refused to let the baby go, what would you have done?”

“I’d have knocked you about for a bit and chained you to a dungeon wall …”

“You’d have _tried_.”

“But I still would have agreed with you.”

They fell into silence, and within the hour survivors started passing down the road. Jaime called out to them all, but most didn’t even stop. Those that did would not speak of what they had seen. They came in ones and twos, soldiers and smallfolk, about twenty in all before Arya came to take the second watch.

The house was warm inside, and full of murmuring voices. It was so beautiful Jaime could almost forget the reason they were there. Missandei sang to the sleeping princess in her arms, and Tarly’s bastard bounced on his father’s knee. Pod and Edric were squeezed into a corner, shamelessly gawking at Widow’s Wail like the little boys they never got to be. Arya’s blacksmith was already stretched out to make a stab at sleep.

“Thirteen is an evil number,” Jaime mused as he sat beside his brother, no longer caring how superstitious he sounded. “I’ve seen men on the road, but they could not even be tempted to join us with the offer of food and shelter. I’m afraid they’re the smart ones.”

Tyrion was about to answer when his wife spoke up instead.

“They say the Last Hero ended the Long Night with twelve companions. I think it’s rather fitting that the last Targaryen should have the same.” Her smile was sad and lovely.

“Didn’t they all die?” Jaime knew the stories, too, and took no comfort in them.

“Yes. They all died for the dawn.”

“If I recall correctly, the Last Hero also had a horse and a dog. As we have many horses and no dogs, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Tyrion was trying to be funny, and it worked for a moment.

But then the door banged open, and in stepped the Hound.


	4. The King of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter fell.

Sansa recovered in an instant, leaping to her feet to brush the snow from Clegane’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, little bird,” he rasped, pulling Longclaw from beneath his cloak. She shrank away and would not touch it when he offered it to her. The room went silent and still.

“What happened?”

“You don’t need to hear such things, m’lady.”

“ _What happened?_ ”

“I saw Daenerys fall.” The Hound lowered his eyes and accepted a loaf of bread from Sam. He would not sit to tell the tale, standing to bear the burden of it. “Don’t know if it were an arrow, but she fell. Right into the arms of the wights. Her dragon landed to help her, and the dead one charged it. They tore each other to ribbons. Never seen so much blood in all my life. Jon came back to the front and sent his dragon away. He’d made Jorah Mormont take the sword into battle. When he died, I took it off him. I tried to give it back when Jon landed, but he wouldn’t take it. He just walked out, and the dead let him pass. No sword, no shield, no mount, he faced down the Night King on his beast, and they spoke. We couldn’t hear him, but he seemed to be offering himself in exchange for the rest of us.

“Whatever he said must have worked, because the wights stood down and brought Daenerys forward. The Others went with her and Jon into the keep, and it was like everything in the world but them were frozen solid. No one even breathed when the Night King passed. He went to the crypts, took Daenerys with him … and came out with something else, another White Walker. His queen, I think. The Others cheered her, and it was the worst sound I’d ever heard.

“Then he took Jon to the Godswood and came back alone. Bran came down from his tower and spoke for the Night King. Told us all we could go, so long as we never again went above the Neck. The North was theirs now, and they would keep it safe from our wars and our fires and our gods. Most everyone took off east as fast as they could.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked Arya. No one had seen or heard her come in, and everyone started at her voice, even the Hound.

“I wanted to. I went to your little brother, and he wouldn’t take this damn sword either. He told me not to worry about him. Said I’d find you girls if I followed the last dragon. Jon’s dragon left going south.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”

Sansa dried her tears and wrapped her arms around Clegane’s neck. Arya threw her arms around his waist from behind. He tensed up for a moment, unused to affection of any kind, then gave in and pulled them tighter to him.

“Do the Others know about us? Do they know about the baby?” interrupted Brienne, touching the Hound’s arm.

“I don’t think so. But soon enough they’ll send patrols to make sure the living leave for good.”

“What of Beric?” asked Lord Dayne.

“And Grey Worm?” asked Missandei.

"Bronn?" asked Tyrion.

“Tormund?” asked Brienne.

“I lost track of Beric and Bronn, but Grey Worm and Tormund went with Bran to look after him.”

They didn’t set another watch that night. The Hound just slept across the threshold, and they felt all the safer for it.

Sleep did not come easily after that story, though. Jaime tossed and turned, and heard others do the same all night. He heard whispers. Someone wept. Sometimes one of the little ones would fuss. 

No king anymore, no dragon queen, no Winterfell. They’d lost the war. They had fought to save the realms of men, and they’d failed. Not everyone had given their lives, but they’d each given _something_ , be it their honor or their home or their family. And what had all that sacrifice bought them? An orphan girl with a famous name. Exile. A winter that may never end.

He wondered if Willem Darry had felt this same tightness in his chest when he put Daenerys on a ship and sailed into the storm. If Ned Stark had felt this same twitch in his gut as he rode up the Kingsroad with Jon Snow in his arms. Was he supposed to be this ashamed? Was he supposed to be this scared?

As the fire burned low, a semblance of sleep found him. He dreamt he was wrapped up in a bearskin with Brienne, laughing about something. Alas when he woke he found no one but a poor, bewildered Pod in his arms.


	5. The Snow Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A speedy trial.

The going was still slow, and by the next evening they’d only made it to Castle Cerwyn.

“Lady Cerwyn declared for the Crown and the Boltons,” warned Sansa when they caught sight of it, perched on its wooded hill.

But they needn’t have worried; the keep was abandoned, likely with great haste after the Battle of the Bastards. All the food was long gone, but there were other supplies aplenty, furs and blankets, firewood and candles and carts to pack it all in. Once they were settled in the great hall, Tyrion and Sam went off with torches in search of the library. Brienne and Pod went to raid the sleeping quarters, and Jaime went to the battlements to survey the landscape.

The night was warmer than the last one and clearer. The waxing moon turned the snowbound world to diamonds. And for a moment the wind almost smelled like spring. The Kingsroad wound south through low hills, and the White Knife glowed on the eastern horizon. It all seemed so simple from up there.

“May we speak, Ser Jaime?” Edric Dayne popped through the trapdoor to the tower stairs.

“Of course, my lord.”

“I wanted to offer the hospitality of Starfall to this little band of yours. It’s the least I can do in return for my life.”

“I didn’t really save your life. Sounds like the fighting was already over when we left.”

“I’d have been on my own after the battle, and my name sounds like a large ransom to desperate, defeated men. Even some of the Brotherhood wanted to offer me to Cersei after Dorne rebelled. Thankfully, Ser Beric wouldn’t let them.”

Jaime couldn’t help but see Arthur whenever he looked at Edric. But not Arthur as he had been on the battlefield or in the tourneys or the training yard. No, this boy reminded him of the Arthur he’d almost forgotten, who told clever stories at feasts, who was respectful, calm and kind to princes and pages alike. And handsome. _Too_ handsome. The nephew had all the makings of the uncle, paler hair and skin, but the same jaw, the same nose, the same eyes.

“How did you say you met Brienne?”

“I think our fathers were discussing a betrothal, though it never came to pass. My family stayed on Tarth for a few nights on our way to the capitol, and she let me spar with her when everyone else said I was too young yet. How did you meet her?”

“She served Catelyn Stark while I was Robb’s prisoner,” Jaime answered diplomatically.

“Was Pod with her then?”

“No, he was in my brother’s service. I sent him to Brienne when he needed to lay low for a while.”

“Had he done something wrong?”

“His only crime was loyalty to Tyrion. Worse than murder, according to Cersei.”

“Your brother …” Edric seemed afraid to ask. “Is he truly a kinslayer? Lord Tywin? King Joffrey?”

“Joffrey’s death was the work of another. But yes, Tyrion killed our father.”

“How can you stand to be near him, knowing he did that? How can you trust him?”

“You’re an only child, aren’t you?” Jaime smiled to keep from crying. “And you’re young. You’ll find the older you get, the harder your choices become. You’ll find yourself loving the people you should hate the most. You’ll find yourself _doing_ things you hate _for_ the people you love. But by then you’ll understand what love costs.”

“Then I suppose I shall try to trust him, too.”

“Good lad.”

Lord Dayne bowed and slipped down into the tower.

Alone again, Jaime went back to brooding manfully in the moonlight.

“You’re just like your father, you know.”

Jaime jumped at the voice and spun to find Arya resting casually against the opposite wall, polishing a small, sour apple on her sleeve.

 _How does she_ do _that?_

“Can’t say I’ve ever been told _that_ before.”

“You’re not hard like he was, but you’re wise like him. You get the same look on your face when you consider things. And you consider everything.”

“And how do you know what faces he made?”

“I was his cupbearer at Harrenhal.”

“ _You_ ,” Jaime had to make sure he’d heard that right, “were his _cupbearer_?” He smirked at the notion of mighty Tywin Lannister outwitted by a little girl.

“He chose me himself from all the prisoners because he thought I was smart. I should have killed him. I _wanted_ to kill him … but I grew to like him. Guess I wasn't so smart after all. If I were, I’d have thrown him out a tower window like a ten-year-old boy.”

In a flash, the tip of her little sword was up against his throat.

“Why did you do it?” she demanded, cold as steel.

“He saw me fucking my sister. What do you suppose good King Robert would have done if he’d found out about _that_?” Jaime could have tried to deny it, but what was the point? He’d done it. All of it. He deserved whatever justice Arya had in store for him.

“Are you still fucking your sister?”

“No.”

“Are you planning to bring her all our traitor heads?”

“No.”

“What do you suppose Robert would have done if he’d known you tried to kill Bran?” She took a bite of her apple and walked him back till his knees hit the parapet. Then she kept pushing with her blade until she had him leaning out over the five-story fall.

“Probably killed me.” He almost welcomed death, now that it was upon him. He’d done his part to save the baby. He could die with as clear a conscience as he’d had in many a year.

“Do you even regret it?”

“Of course I do.” He wanted to be angry with her, but he knew she was right. _This is how it has to be._

“Any last words?” A flick of her wrist and it would all be over. 

“Tell Brienne … tell her I love her.”

Arya quirked an eyebrow, thought for a long, long moment, and lowered her sword.


	6. It's Fine, Ser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I felt obligated to add a ship tag just for this chap, but trust me, it's romantically null and void. It's not like, a Thing. It will lead to other Things, but it, in and of itself, is not a Thing. If it's what you're here for, I apologize for teasing you.

Trembling, Jaime slid to the floor, back safely braced against the wall. Apparently he’d been more afraid to die than he’d told himself.

Arya sheathed her sword and offered him an apple from her pocket.

“Thank you,” he said, and not for the apple.

“I went back and forth about killing you for months. Ever since you showed up at Winterfell. But I always decided you’d be more useful alive. Then you escaped the battle with at least ten people Cersei specifically wants dead. It was more than a little suspicious, and you’d outlived your usefulness the moment the battle was over … but anyone in love with Brienne can’t be all bad.”

“You won’t tell her, will you?”

“If you’re not man enough to do it yourself, then why should I do it for you?”

He supposed he’d have to settle for that.

“That’s a proper little sword you’ve got there. Did your blacksmith make it for you?”

“No. And he’s _not_ my blacksmith.” She fiddled with the hilt, and something tender reached her eyes.

“Ah, but you _wish_ he were yours, don’t you?”

“Shut up!” She snapped, able to dish it out but obviously unable take it.

“You’re just not man enough to tell him.”

Arya stomped away and reached for the trap door.

“You’re just like your father, too, you know,” he called after her, only half mocking. 

Jaime gave her a few moments to sneak off somewhere else, then he, too, descended.

He met Brienne at the door to the great hall, and in her arms was a bear pelt, blue-black and big enough to wrap them both within it.

“I found this in Lady Cerwyn’s chambers. I think I’ll ask Lady Sansa to make me a cloak of it,” she said, mistaking his wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare for admiration of its beauty.

“Women,” he scoffed, trying to sound anything but lovesick, “care too much about what they wear.”

“And men don’t care enough.” With a smile too warm for winter she threw her prize around her shoulders and sauntered to the fire. 

Jaime sat as far from her as he could get and began clumsily removing his armor. Pod came over and helped out of habit, hands strong and gentle, eyes lowered.

“Sorry about this morning,” said Jaime for perhaps the third time that day.

“It’s fine, ser,” the boy whispered, his insistence undermined by his bright red ears.

That night Jaime dreamt again of Rhaegar. It was a long and strange dream, and no matter how he wished it would, it gave him no guidance.

He was alone in darkness with only a candle, but the candle snuffed out, and Arya’s blade came to rest on his throat. 

"I should have killed him …" Though he heard her voice, he couldn’t see her face. 

He stumbled away from her, running until he saw stars before him. He missed a step and fell from a seaside cliff that hadn’t been there before, the water closing over him in dreadful, blue silence. He fought his way back to the surface and found himself not in the sea but the Harrenhal baths, warm and well lit.

“Brienne?” She should’ve been there, somewhere, to save him.

In answer a tall, pale form slipped into the water, and Jaime had to move uncomfortably close to make out its details.

“Brienne?”

“No.” It was Rhaegar, as naked as Jaime and annoyingly calm about all this madness. “You’ve grown up, Kingslayer.” 

Unable to wrest control over the now-nightmare, Jaime leaned in and kissed his prince with a heartbroken passion.

“My name is Jaime,” he snarled into Rhaegar’s neck, suddenly aware they were already fucking. “Where’s Brienne?” he moaned.

“At the fair, of course, the fair, the fair.”

Jaime awoke in a cold sweat, utterly unsatisfied in every way. He was confused and aroused, and had the vague sense that Brienne was in danger. He sat up to check on her, but she was fine, sleeping peacefully in the last light of the embers, curled up under her beloved new bearskin. Everyone, in fact, seemed to be safe and sleeping well.

Reassured, he laid back down and resigned himself to frustration. It would pass eventually.

“Ser?” Pod stirred beside him.

“Go back to sleep,” Jaime murmured, trying to force himself to do the same. But something brushed his thigh, and, too late, he realized it was a hand. He froze. “You don’t have to do this, Pod,” he pled as quietly as possible, knowing somehow that he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , be the one to stop the squire. “You don’t have to …”

The hand just crept higher, strong and gentle.

“It’s fine, ser.”


	7. Something Like Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A better day.

In the morning, Jaime hated himself for feeling so rested and refreshed. But if Pod could act like everything was normal, then so could he. Well, he could try.

Over a breakfast of bread and honey (the last of both, he noted), he welcomed everyone’s input on the next leg of their journey.

“Lord Dayne has kindly invited us to Starfall. Considering it’s about as far as we can get from King’s Landing without staying in the North, I believe it’s just the destination we’re in need of. The only question now is whether to follow the river to White Harbor or cut across the plains to Barrowton.” 

A lively debate sprang up, and he sat back to listen to the points for and against each option. White Harbor was the closer and busier port, but any ship bound south from there would take them past King’s Landing. Barrowton was on the more desirable coast, but it sat on land sacred to the First Men and might be a target for the Others.

When the debate grew tiresome, Jaime stepped in and called upon the one person who’d said nothing yet.

“Missandei. What do you think, my lady?” 

A respectful silence fell for her.

“I do not know this land, ser, and no matter where we go there will be danger, whether it’s the Royal Fleet in the east, the Iron Fleet in the west, or slavers all throughout the Narrow Sea. I just know that Daenerys’ fleet was moored at White Harbor. Her captains would surely help us get to Essos … and _only_ Essos. We may find young Lord Stark and Grey Worm and all the rest in White Harbor, but her grace once told me that the Night King has a strange connection to Bran. Perhaps it is best that we do not go looking for him. It pains me to say it, but I must choose Barrowton.”

Her wisdom swayed a strong majority, leaving only Arya muttering “Braavos is nice this time of year,” under her breath.

Much to their surprise, the weather had become almost balmy overnight, huge plumes of mist rising in the pale morning light. Icicles wept as they passed through the gate, and birds sang to them from the trees as they skirted the edge of the Wolfwood.

Once they were no longer bound to the road, their formation disintegrated. Without so much as a by-your-leave, Lord Dayne dropped to the rear to speak with Arya, who was riding for a second day on the Hound’s lap. He was replaced at the front by the smith, who looked quite put out by the handsome, _noble_ competition (Jaime could sympathize). The rest fanned out around the wagon, some pulling the little carts they’d confiscated from the castle.

With a small motion of her head, Brienne drew Jaime further ahead of Pod and the smith so they might talk alone.

“Has Prince Rhaegar spoken to you again by any chance?” she asked in a low voice with no hint of a tease or a jest.

“Yes, I dreamt of him last night ... but it wasn’t the sort of dream a man should tell a lady about.” It wasn’t even the sort of dream a man should tell another _man_ about.

“I see.” She got a very strange, very _knowing_ look on her face that made Jaime squirm with embarrassment. “Perhaps you should tell me anyway.”

He only had to think on it for a moment. There was no one in the world he trusted more than Brienne, not even Tyrion.

“I dreamt …” he struggled to recall it all in order, “that Arya was about to kill me. Then I fell from a cliff into the sea. Then the sea turned into the bath at Harrenhal.” He gave her a moment to remember all that had happened in that particular room before continuing. “But instead of you, Rhaegar was with me. I asked him where you were, and he said you were at the fair.”

“What part of that is inappropriate for a lady?”

“The part I’m not going to tell you.”

“You made love to him didn’t you?”

“Not the _precise_ phrase I would use,” he coughed. His ears and face were burning, and he couldn’t for the life of him look her in the eye.

“They say he was beautiful.”

“He was ... but it was never like that between us, and I never wanted it to be. Never even considered it.”

“And he said I was at a fair?”

“The fair, the fair,” Jaime sang for clarification.

“Oh …”

He caught her looking down at the bearskin rolled up and strapped to her saddle. He knew what she was thinking as if she’d said it aloud. He reached out for her, and she placed her hand in his. Taking a page from Edric’s book, he laid a kiss upon her glove.

“I hope you know I would join you in that pit again without a second thought.” To his disappointment, she didn’t blush or demure like she did for the Lord of Starfall. Her smile was that of an old friend, not a smitten young lass.

“Bring a sword next time.”


	8. Dark Wings

“What was your name again?” Jaime asked, sidling up to the blacksmith when they dismounted for a bit of a mid-day meal. “Endrew?”

“ _Gendry_.” He scowled.

“And what’s your story? How did you come to know Lady Arya?”

“What do you care, Lannister?”

“Because I feel responsible for you. And if it comes to pass that I must lay down my life for you, I’d like to know who I’m dying for.” Jaime allowed a slight edge into his voice, all but commanding the boy to speak.

“I’m just some tavern girl’s son, ‘prenticed to Tobho Mott for near ten years. I left King’s Landing ‘bout the time Ned Stark died, and met Arya on the road north. Didn’t see her again till after I pledged myself to Jon Snow.”

“And why make that pledge?”

“‘Cause I wanted to kill Lannisters.”

“Yet you allow my brother and I to live. How compassionate of you.”

“Tyrion seems decent enough, siding with Daenerys and all. You took your sweet time joining him, but I suppose you must be decent enough, too.” Gendry didn’t quite look like he wanted to hate them at all anymore. Anger like that was difficult to sustain in times like these.

“Why haven’t you told Arya you love her?” Jaime took advantage of the moment of doubt to catch the boy off balance. Huge blue eyes and a clenched jaw told him he’d guessed correctly.

“She’s a lady,” he answered meekly, as if that was any kind of explanation.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you think a difference in station matters to her.”

Gendry couldn’t.

“It matters to me,” he mumbled instead. “Jon said he would raise me up after the dead were defeated ... so I was waiting. I want to be more for her, more than just some bastard blacksmith she always has to rescue.”

“What’s wrong with being rescued? I rather enjoy it, myself.” _It means she cares._

Whatever response Gendry was formulating, he didn’t get a chance to say it.

A sudden, bitter wind swept over the plain, and on it was a voice.

“Go,” it screeched.

A rush of ravens burst from the Wolfwood and scattered. A cloud passed over the sun, and one raven broke from the rest to land on the wagon.

“Go, go, go,” it insisted, beating its wings.

When Jaime mounted his horse and started barking orders, no one told him it was just a raven or just a cloud. They all knew better.

“There!” Pod pointed. “Three of them.” They were only flashes of white between the firs, but they were moving fast.

Tyrion took the reins of the wagon, and the women and babies got in the back. As it trundled off, still hampered by the snow, Arya shouted for Gendry. She hoisted a warhammer, as tall as she was, over her head and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly, one-handed, and swung up onto his own horse.

All mounted now, the swordsmen and the smith made straight for the Others, getting and staying directly between them and the wagon. They met just outside the wood, standing off to size each other up.

On the outside he was calm and brave, but on the inside Jaime was terrified, heart pounding, as he dismounted and approached the looming, inhuman creatures. It was the nearest he’d ever been to one, and they were worse than he’d imagined, living ice that crackled and misted as they moved, beautiful but for the death and hate in their eyes. _Stall,_ he told himself. _If nothing else you can stall them._

“How can I help you, good sers?” 

The tallest of them stepped toward him, and in a single motion Heartsbane, Oathkeeper, Longclaw and Widow’s Wail were out and gleaming. The Walker took pause at the sight, and came no further. 

“I assume you’re here for the baby?”

It nodded slowly.

“Alas, I cannot help you with that. So unless you feel like arguing with all the Valyrian steel in the North, I suggest you go tell your king to let this one go.”

For a moment, Jaime thought they would stay and fight, but with a word that sounded like the cold itself, they left, disappearing into the trees.

“They’ll be back,” growled the Hound.

“With reinforcements,” added Brienne.

Somehow, Jaime found his stirrups and his reins, and the sun returned from behind the clouds.

“Then we’d better hurry.”


	9. The Bastard

They stopped to gather the carts they’d left behind, then followed the wagon’s tracks at a quick trot. Jaime made it a point to end up riding next to Gendry. He would not name his feelings ‘suspicion’ or ‘recognition,’ but the boy had cut a familiar silhouette in the standoff with the Others. A silhouette that cast his blue eyes, black hair, age and birthplace in a whole new light.

“I’d like to take a look at that hammer of yours." It was not a request.

Reluctantly, Gendry pushed back his cloak, revealing the weapon he’d tried to hide on his back. This close, a pair of golden antlers stood out clearly against the black iron hammerhead.

“A tavern girl, eh?”

Gendry nodded, knowing there was no longer any use being coy.

“Robert?”

“Well it weren’t _Renly_.”

“So that’s why you joined up with Jon … you thought your fathers were friends.”

“And I stayed, even when I found out they weren’t.”

So there it was. Jaime owed something to every fucking person on this cursed journey. Even this bastard blacksmith from the Street of Steel had ghosts with which to haunt him. Even him.

“I had no love for your father, I cannot pretend otherwise … But I will not judge you for his actions.”

“And I won’t judge you for your sister’s.”

They shook on it.

“What was he like?” 

“He was cruel to me, and worse to my sister. He didn’t even pay attention to the children he thought were his, let alone his _numerous_ bastards. He was constantly drunk and draped in whores. He refused to rule his kingdoms, and he tried to murder Daenerys. More than once. While she was pregnant.” Jaime knew these things pained Gendry to hear, but he had to say them anyway. He had to make him understand. “But I like to think that, if he’d lived as long as us, King Robert would be leading the charge against the Night King. He was brave, like you, and flourished on the battlefield. He’d have welcomed the challenge and met it with the full strength of every kingdom at his back.” 

That at least brought a smile back to the boy’s face. 

“But I have to know …" Jaime went on, genuinely curious, "what was _Arya_ like?”

“She used to be even scarier.”

They both shuddered and laughed, and for a moment it felt like they were friends.

The fighters caught up to the wagon before sunset and pushed on almost until sunrise. They didn’t sleep long, and they kept a real watch. 

Jaime dreamt that morning of a small stone bridge over a grey river, beneath a grey sky. 

He was bound at the wrists and being dragged across by Rhaegar. The prince was in his black and ruby armor, visor down and sword drawn. Suddenly Jaime had a sword of his own and was fighting to escape ... He didn’t mean to kill him, hadn’t even meant to _fight_ him, but his sword accidentally found the way deep into Rhaegar’s throat, sliding effortlessly between his helm and mail, through soft, wet flesh. 

The whole river turned to rubies, and Jaime woke with a throbbing headache.

Later that day they found the dragon, dying in the mud and grass left by the receding snows.

“Rhaegal!” cried Missandei, leaping from her horse and falling to her knees at its side.

Much to Jaime’s surprise, Tyrion was equally fearless. He dismounted to walk the length of the beast, inspecting the wounds that were killing it. There were hundreds of them, from arrows and spears and its brother’s own claws. Even if they’d had time, there was no comfort they could have provided.

Many tears were shed as they stood vigil for Rhaegal’s final breath. It felt like losing the battle all over again, like losing all hope. At last, Tyrion led Missandei back to the line, their hands and clothes red with blood. 

And the column set out, once more, for Barrowton.


	10. The Barrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No rest for the weary.

After another day and night of hard, hungry travel, they reached Barrowton and found it still living. If they’d been common soldiers fleeing the battle, they’d have been pointed to a tavern and allowed to sleep. But they were unfortunately people of great consequence, so they were escorted to Barrow Hall and brought before Lady Dustin.

She was a hard woman and busy, having a whole city to evacuate. Sansa personally asked for her assistance with all the might of her rhetoric, but even the queen of the wolves couldn’t crack Lady Dustin’s resolve. She refused to let them stay, believing them when they said the Night King would come for the princess. Instead, she helped them find a fast ship bound for Faircastle.

They had to trade away their horses, wagon and carts because the _Windy Shrimp_ was too small to carry them. And it was only when they cast off onto the river that anyone got a chance to sleep. The men and women each got a corner of the hold, strung with hammocks, and everyone climbed in immediately. Everyone except Jaime and Brienne.

They stood together on the prow, facing south as if they could will the Saltspear closer or the current to flow faster.

“You haven’t been angry with me lately …” he mused.

“Should I have been?”

“How am I to know the right thing to do without you nagging me to do it?” He clutched the rail, and she laid her hand upon his.

“I don’t know what the right thing is anymore ... I just know I’m proud of you.”

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the loss of Rheagal, or the callous dismissal from Barrowton which made everything hurt so much, but her kindness brought tears to his eyes.

“You are brave and good, Ser Jaime. You’ve gathered strong allies and listened to their counsel. You faced down three White Walkers unarmed ... and I heard what you said to Gendry afterward. We may not have chosen the safest course, but if anyone can see us through it, if _anyone_ can keep us sane and whole, it’s _you_.”

He wished she would kiss him. Her love would mean more to him than all the bravery and goodness and praise in the world. He supposed he could’ve been the one to lean over and do it. He could’ve been the one to take responsibility … but he had so many responsibilities already. _No,_ he thought selfishly, _not this, too._

“We should get some rest.” She turned to go below, waiting when he didn’t follow.

“You go ahead.”

“You’re afraid to sleep, aren’t you?” She came back to stand behind him. “What was it this time?”

“I killed Rhaegar. It was bad enough to dream such a thing …”

“... But then we found the dragon.” She took him by the shoulders and forced him, gently, to face her. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Then why did he feel so guilty?

“Get some sleep, Ser Jaime. Consider yourself nagged.”

Unable to refuse her, he found his hammock and rolled into it. And, as if in reward for his obedience, the dream that followed was not a (very) bad one.

He was in a forge, buying a sword from Tobho Mott.

“It’s not pretty, but it’s strong. Take good care of it.”

Then the red light of the forge became the red of his tent outside a besieged Riverrun. A shadow passed over the flap, and he hoped it was Brienne, finally come to save him. But it was Rhaegar who entered. _Of course_.

“Where is she?”

“Waiting for you. At the fair.”

Jaime grew angry. He didn’t _want_ to dream about Rhaegar. He wanted to dream about the woman he loved. Not just the places she’d been, not just the words she’d said or the way she’d stood. He wanted _her_. He didn’t want it to be Rhaegar leaning down to kiss him, so deep and so delicate. Not when it could have been her.

Then Rhaegar left, melting into a night lit only by torches. When Jaime tried to chase him, all he found was Lady Sansa, very politely telling him he’d gone the wrong way.


	11. The Right Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I meant Fair _castle_. 
> 
> And the Windy ~Shrimp~. 
> 
> I was tired that night.

When the _Windy Shrimp_ reached the Saltspear, a cloud of tension seemed to lift from the travelers. They grew safer from the Night King by the day, and their mortal troubles were still weeks away. There wasn’t much to do on the ship but play cards, spar and talk to each other, and they did a lot of all three.

Having dreamt that Sansa knew which way to go, Jaime made several attempts to speak with her alone. But for days, his courage failed him. She was just too like her mother to be approachable. The flash of her eyes and the fall of her hair sent him straight back to that cage in Robb’s camp, put the fear and shame of the Red Wedding into him. He had to forcefully remind himself that she’d once been a sweet little girl in need of protection. 

Even so, he never got much further than hovering silently while she sewed after dinner, trying to speak then eventually walking away. It didn’t help that the Hound was always with her in those quiet hours. Jaime knew whose side Clegane would take in an argument or, gods forbid, a fight.

But one night she put down her band of linen and her blue thread and pierced him with an emotionless stare.

“You needn’t be afraid, Ser Jaime. We are family after all.”

“Yes, I suppose we are …” he must have looked rather pathetic, because she softened her gaze and motioned for him to sit.

“What troubles you?”

“Everything,” he answered honestly. There was so much he wanted to ask her, about the journey, about his brother, about Brienne. Part of him, a _big_ part, wanted to ask her to take over command of their fugitive troupe. _She_ was Jon’s heir till the princess came of age. _She_ was the one who’d studied the great Game at Cersei’s knee and lived to tell the tale. But he would not burden her will all of that. Not yet. “Mostly I worry about what to do in Faircastle.”

“Then let’s discuss our options.”

“Well, we could stay at an inn while we look for a ship to Dorne, but there are too many eyes and ears at southern inns.”

“Very true. We could cross the strait, buy more horses and take the Sea Road … but I’d rather keep to a ship.”

“I feel the same. Perhaps the safest thing to do is split up. There’s nothing binding us to each other but circumstance. You and your sister could take the princess by sea, while I take a decoy party down the coast. Could buy you some time ...”

“No. I’ll not even hear you speak of such a thing. The lot of us are bound together by far more than chance, and we must stay together at all costs. Besides,” she almost smiled, “it would be cruel to make Brienne choose which of us to follow. There must be another way.”

“I have a friend near Faircastle. He could hide us while we wait for a ship …”

“But he’s loyal to the Crown?”

“I don’t think he’d sell us out. I’m afraid he’ll turn us away like Lady Dustin. He may not have a taste for adventure anymore now that he has a family to think of.”

“All you can do is ask.”

“Then, with your blessing, I’ll get a raven off as soon as we make port. Thank you for your counsel, my lady.” As he stood to take his leave, Jaime gave in to impulse and touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to lose your home and your family so soon after finding them again.”

She reached up and squeezed his fingers.

“I have lost much ... but I still have a pack.”

“It’s not a pack,” grumbled the Hound. He’d been so quiet, blended so well into the shadows at the edge of the lantern light, that Jaime had quite forgotten he was there. 

“No?” Sansa seemed amused to hear her loyal lap dog disagree with her. “Then what is it?”

“It’s a pride.”


	12. The Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You lost."

The next three weeks at sea ran together in a calm continuity. They met no pirates, suffered no storms, and made good time on their roundabout route. Jaime didn’t even dream.

The most exciting thing that happened was a heated argument between the squires. But it blew over, and they were soon thick as thieves once more. No one knew what the fuss had been about, and blissful boredom returned.

Then on the eve of their arrival at Faircastle, Jaime called everyone around to lay out his master plan.

“If all goes well, we’ll be staying with the Cliftons for a few days. There’s no use trying to hide Tyrion or Clegane, Lord Clifton knows them both well. But we can tell him the princess is Tarly’s daughter, and that Arya is Clegane’s. Lady Sansa can pose as Pod’s betrothed. Everyone else should be safe enough with their own names.”

This plan was met with quiet approval, and there was a certain hopefulness in the air as they took to their hammocks for the last time.

But then Jaime dreamt again.

The sun beat down on the tourney ground at Harrenhal, and he was young again, wearing a white cloak for the very first time. Dust was settling on the lists, and Rhaegar held a crown of blue roses on the end of his lance. The prince was implacable behind his visor as he rode down the stands. He rode past Elia, past Lyanna, past a hundred other women, and laid the crown at Jaime’s feet.

Jaime tried to say he didn’t want it, tried to kick the roses into the dirt, but all he did was climb up behind Rhaegar and ride away as the whole world cheered for them.

“Where are we going?” he finally managed to ask.

“From there to here, from here to there.”

Rhaegar took him to a forest clearing and laid him down beneath a laughing tree.

“They’ll start a war for this,” Jaime protested.

“The war is over,” Rhaegar insisted, their bodies already entwined. “You lost.”

\-----------

The docks at Faircastle were loud and busy, and passing sailors paid no mind to the group of cloaked and hooded travelers perched on and around their luggage. They waited hours for an answer to Jaime’s raven. And just when they thought they’d been abandoned, two large rowboats pulled up to the _Windy Shrimp_ ’s berth.

A small man with smooth, shining brown hair and beard leapt onto the dock and pulled Jaime into a hard embrace.

“Cal!” Jaime almost hadn’t recognized him. “When did you get so old?”

“Same time you did, looks like.”

They laughed for a moment, before turning to the task at hand.

“Can you help us?”

“Can and will, my lord.”

“Thank you. My friends, this is Calvyn Clifton. He squired for my Uncle Gerion when we were boys.”

“We’ll have to make proper introductions when we reach Cliff House. The tide won’t wait for us.”

They piled into the boats with their trunks and bags and slid out of port toward the distant smudge of the mainland.

“What is this madness?” Cal asked, not unkindly, when they were well away.

“The North fought an army of the dead and lost. I found what friends I could and made a run for it.”

“But what were you doing up north at all?”

“I broke with Cersei when she refused to send help. Hadn’t you heard? I thought she’d have attainted me and demanded my head on a spike.”

“As far as anyone around these parts knows, you’re the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, serving your sister loyally in the capitol. How long have you been gone?”

“Near a year now.” Funny, it only felt like a moment.

“So I take it you’re not escorting Tyrion to justice for the murder of your father.” To his credit, Cal never once looked like he regretted the decision to help. He just wanted to understand.

“No. He’s my little brother. No matter what he’s done I can’t lose him, too.”

“As you will, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that. I don’t feel like a lord.”

“Don’t look like one either. What happened up there? I’ve heard stories but the maesters say none of it could be real.”

“It’s real. All of it. I stood with Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen and looked out across an army of corpses a hundred thousand strong. I saw what led them. Cersei knew what was coming. Jon and Daenerys showed us when they came to ask for help. Cersei _knew_ and she still refused to send troops.”

“It’s not like you to run, even when your side is losing.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but it stung.

“Jon surrendered, and the living were expelled from the North.”

“And who _are_ all these people?”

“The Hound, Edric Dayne, Samwell Tarly, Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne, their friends and family ...”

As they spoke, the boats drew ever nearer to the cliffs. Jaime could just make out banners, unfurled from windows cut into the stone. From such a distance the sigil could be mistaken for a golden flower on maroon ground, but he knew it was a circle of rats, tails knotted at the center.

“... We’re bound together.” He used the Cliftons’ own words by way of explanation, and knew Cal would understand perfectly.

“Have you heard much news from the capitol?”

“None. Why? What is it?”

“Not now, you need your rest. We’ll talk of politics tomorrow, after the fair.”


	13. Cliff House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brotherly advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but the next one's gonna be loooong.

The boats slipped through a cave in the cliff just before the tide rose to cover it. It was the only known entrance to Cliff House, and Jaime breathed a sigh of relief he’d been holding since Winterfell. Once safely inside, formal introductions were made, and the Stark girls played their parts with aplomb. Gilly did her best to shield the princess’s lilac eyes and silver-blonde fuzz from view.

The boys who’d rowed the boats turned out to be Cal’s eldest sons, and they took the travelers through the winding stairs and twisted halls of Cliff House to an enfilade suite of guestrooms. Every foot of the keep was carved deep into the cliff itself, so torches were necessary even on this sunny afternoon. Their rooms had windows overlooking the sea, but, facing west, these would remain shadowed for hours yet. One boy went to fetch an early supper for his guests while the other lit fires and candles.

They were left alone when the food arrived, and they spoke little over their roasted fish, vegetable soup, brown bread and fruit pies. It was all they’d had since a breakfast of hardtack and gruel, and by the end they were well stuffed and sleepy.

Tarly, Gilly and the babies took the largest room. The women took a smaller one, and most of the men another. Jaime and Tyrion ended up in the smallest room, watching the sunset from a cushioned window seat. Among the amenities they’d been provided was a cask of Arbor red, and Tyrion was taking full advantage.

“I’m afraid I’m making our travels more difficult. Thank you for not leaving me in a ditch somewhere, despite the danger, despite all I’ve done ...”

“Don’t.” Jaime cut him off. “Let’s not talk of such things. We’re finally somewhere safe and warm and quiet. Let’s talk of something pleasant.”

“Brienne perhaps?”

Jaime glared, but could think of no alternative.

“The Maid of Tarth has been a good influence on you, have you considered taking her to wife?”

“No,” he lied.

“She may not be as pretty as you’re used to …”

“She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, the strongest and the kindest, too. She deserves better than a forty-year-old knight with one hand.”

“Speaking as a man with a wife much younger, prettier, stronger and kinder than he deserves, you mustn’t focus on your deficiencies. You’re still handsome and … well you’re … hm …”

“My point exactly.”

Tyrion rose to refill his glass, pouring one for Jaime as well.

“You love her.” His expression grew stern, making him look much too much like their father. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll go to the fair.”

“I must say I expected a bit more than that from a seasoned strategist such as yourself.”

Jaime gulped the wine for courage before making a stab at explanation. 

“I’ve been having dreams since we escaped. Some of them came true.” His brother looked skeptical, but Jaime went on. “I dreamt, several times, that I was looking for her … and I was told she’d be at a fair. That she’d be waiting for me.”

“Dreams are funny things …”

“You asked what I was going to do, and I told you. Are you trying to talk me out of it now?”

“No, no … but you can’t just show up and expect everything to fall into place. You’ve got to put in some _effort_.”

“Effort?”

“A shave and a bath would be a good start. And we’ll have to find _something_ for you to wear.”

Jaime tried to be annoyed with his brother … but all he felt was gratitude.


	14. The Fair, the Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied … it's not very long. It was supposed to include, uh, _more_. But just this much has taken me this freakin' long, so I'm just gonna post it and keep working on the sex part (spoiler alert? lol).

Come morning, Jaime was as ready as he’d ever be, freshly groomed and wearing a tunic of blood red silk. The garment had been Gerion’s once, left behind on one of his many visits to Cliff House. Jaime was glad Cal hadn’t the heart to throw it away when Gerion disappeared all those years ago. It was snug, but it made him look a proper lord, and that was all it had to do.

The only others who planned to attend the fair were Arya and Gendry, their excuse that Jaime required some measure of protection, and the three of them gathered with the whole Clifton clan in the great hall to depart. Cal led them through an uncomfortably narrow passageway for near a mile to a door that opened upon the keep’s little Godswood. It was a peaceful grove of white poplar, cherry, birch and willow that sat on the banks of a slow, deep creek. From there it was only a few minutes’ walk to the fairgrounds.

Already the revelry was underway, vendors hawking their exotic wares, heralds announcing their lords and ladies, and around every corner the scent of a new delicacy or the strains of a new song.

Lord Clifton gave his seven children each a pair of silver stags and they gleefully scattered. The youngest, a girl of five, rode her eldest brother’s shoulders and swayed above the crowd, squealing about the joust.

For hours, Jaime wandered the fairgrounds with Cal and his wife Camila, watching as they met with their smallfolk and fellow lords, inspected farmers’ and artisans’ stalls, and spread their wealth with dozens of purchases. Arya and Gendry were always just within sight, either trailing behind or strolling ahead, blending perfectly with the peasants and stopping for games and food whenever the fancy struck.

At noon the family gathered at the lists, and Cal opened the joust.

“My friends,” he cried and the crowd quieted, “lords and ladies, honored guests and far flung travelers, it is my pleasure to welcome you to our little contest of skill. I do not wish to place any undue pressure on our brave contestants this day, but they will all be under the watchful eye of our liege, Lord Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock.” He paused for a round of enthusiastic applause. “Now I know there is no girl here half so pretty as Lord Jaime,” the crowd burbled with laughter, “but as always, the tourney champion shall win the right to crown a queen of love and beauty.” He held aloft a wreath of red roses and golden wheat. “Knights, present your colors!”

 _So this is what it could be like_ , Jaime thought, _to be a lord._ Cal’s easy manner and loving family made it seem so much more appealing than Tywin’s lectures ever had. It was also instructive to sit back and watch the banners pass by, liveried squires following their shining knights and champing steeds. From the dais the joust became more than a game. It became a statement of unity and pride and strength. Jaime realized he’d missed something important by always tilting when he could have watched from above; he’d only ever seen a part of the much greater whole.

There were dozens of arms arrayed before him, the stars of Peckledon, the owls of Garner, the badger of Lydden. He recognized most as his own bannermen, and he couldn’t decide who to cheer for … until the last, a mystery knight, took the field.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the Knight of the Dancing Bear, for the mystery was easily solved. He’d commissioned that armor himself. He knew where that bearskin cloak had come from. Even at this distance he could make out her squire’s familiar, beaming face.

He’d never seen her joust before, never even heard her mention it, but he didn’t worry for her safety. He knew she rode well, and that the lance must have been part of her childhood training. And he knew that, aside from horsemanship, jousting was mostly a test of courage, strength and endurance, all of which she had aplenty.

By the time she’d unseated her first three opponents, the crowd was fully enamored with her. Choruses of _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ sprang up whenever her shield, freshly painted with a black bear on a blue ground, returned for another round. Everyone loved a mystery knight because it could be _anyone_ under that helm. Jaime loved _this_ mystery knight because it couldn’t be anyone else.

For hours she rose in the ranks amid thundering hooves and splintering lances and wave after wave of applause. When she reached the semi-finals, Jaime realized she might actually _win_. When she reached the finals, he was sure of it.

Well, almost sure. Her last tilt would be against a knight of House Prester, and he was young and small, a difficult target to strike. Most of his opponents hadn’t even touched him.

Jaime was at the edge of his seat, alive with excitement, as silent as the smallfolk when the flag was raised. With a smash both lances broke, and new ones were handed up on the turn. Time seemed to slow as they spurred their horses, as both their lances broke again. Another turn, another try … _You can do it, Brienne!_ … and Prester fell, sand and splinters raining down upon him, his last lance unbroken.

Forgetting for a moment to act like a lord, Jaime leapt to his feet and sang and screamed with the rest of the crowd, overcome with pride and an unbridled joy he’d not felt in years. Perhaps to cover his indiscretion, or perhaps because they were just as swept up in the victory as everyone else, the Cliftons also stood, clapping and stamping their feet.

When the Knight of the Dancing Bear approached the dais, the cheers turned to murmurs of anticipation, and Lord Clifton passed her the crown of roses with a smile. She walked her horse up and down the dais, drawing the moment out until the crowd was ready to burst, then she threw the crown in Jaime’s lap and bowed in her saddle. The cheering erupted anew, now tinged with hearty, jovial laughter.

Jaime laughed along with the rest of the world, not because it was such a good joke (though he knew it would be a good joke to an onlooker), but because, at last, after so much had gone wrong, after so much death and sorrow and fear, something could still feel _right_.

Clutching, the roses, he watched her ride off, shaking hands and waving as she moved through her adoring fans.

“There’s time yet before the feast,” Cal said with an elbow to Jaime’s ribs, “if you want to make sure your lady’s not hurt.”

Unsure whether to be bashful or grateful, Jaime grinned and went to find Arya and Gendry.

“I’ve never seen a joust before,” said Gendry by way of greeting below the dais.

“I’ve seen a few, but it’s so much better when you actually give a shit about who wins,” Arya laughed. They were both hoarse from shouting, red and disheveled from their wild afternoon. “Come on, Pod says she’s got a tent at the east end of camp.” She wove them through the throngs, stopping only to purchase a little cask of a dry Dornish white, and, at the very edge of everything, they found the tent with the dancing bear shield.

Pod was outside, tending to the three horses that had already been delivered by their defeated knights, tied in a row along the remnants of an old split wood fence. 

There were only a few squires puttering about the nearby tents, but that was more than enough to start all manner of rumors. _Let the sheep talk,_ Jaime thought. Very deliberately, he hung the crown of roses on Brienne’s shield before slipping inside.


	15. The Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the second half of the Fair chap :P

Brienne’s tent was unfurnished and dimly lit. The only decorations were her bearskin, laid out like a rug, and a pile of surrendered armor.

Jaime said nothing at first, taking a moment instead to admire her. She’d removed her armor, but she looked no less a knight in just her gambeson and breeches. She was so strong, her shoulders so wide and her back so long as she stretched out overtaxed muscles. He could have watched her all evening.

When she noticed him, she stopped and gave a bit of a bow

“You and I are friends, aren’t we?” he asked, coming closer cautiously.

“Of course.”

“And friends can tell each other things, can’t they? Without fear of ridicule?”

She nodded with a patient smile.

“So if, let’s just say, I were in love with you, but you weren’t in love with me, you’d let me down gently, wouldn’t you?”

In answer, she closed the short distance between them, took his jaw in her hands, and kissed him. With a rush of relief he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back. 

_Finally,_ Jaime thought. They should have done this years ago on one of their lonely nights in the Riverlands. They should have done it right there in the bearpit, or in the White Tower, or at the gates of Winterfell. They should have kissed a thousand times by now. They had _so much_ to make up for. 

He felt himself rising against her hip and tried to pull away, tried to slow down and savor the moment, but Brienne would not let him. With a step or two of fancy footwork, she swept his legs and lowered him to the bearskin. She kneaded her hip against him and rubbed herself against his thigh, and Jaime had to wonder for a moment which of them was the maid and which the man.

The ground was hard beneath the fur, biting into his back, but it was worth the pain to have her in his arms, to know that she wanted him, too. When she, at last, rolled off to wrestle with her breeches, he unlaced his own, freeing his cock with a grateful sigh. By the time Brienne managed to get one leg out, he was rolling on top of her, stilling her with a kiss. 

He ran his hand up the inside of her bared thigh and beyond, finding her already wet and writhing. He moaned at the feel of her, dipping two fingers inside and letting her ride them till she begged for even more. He gladly granted her mercy and sat up, lifting and bending her leg and spearing her in a single, slow motion that left them both panting. He turned his head and kissed her thigh, afraid to look at where they were joined, lest he come right then and there. She gripped him tight and ground her hips down. Almost against his will, he pulled out to thrust again, reaching even deeper. And that was the end of savoring the moment for Jaime. The rest was a blur of passion as he fucked her into the ground, a whirl of black leather and red silk as their flesh met over and over.

He kissed her when he came, spilling inside her, his final thrusts as slow and agonizing as his first. She held him there with her legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, taking every last drop of him and bearing his weight when he collapsed.

They rolled apart to catch their breath and stare into each other’s eyes in disbelief and contentment.

“Will you marry me?” Jaime heard himself ask, shocked at his own boldness.

“If you’re concerned about my honor ...” she laughed.

“I’m not,” he interrupted, “I love you.”

“Then yes.” She laughed again, but sadly this time. “My father tried for so many years to find someone, _anyone_ willing to marry me. Never in his wildest, most ambitious dreams could he have guessed I might one day be Lady of Casterly Rock.”

Jaime sighed and sat up.

“I wish I could give you more than a title. I wish I could carry you off to a fortress full of riches where we could rule with justice and wisdom. I wish I could give you tourneys and banquets and an army.”

“I’d settle for a few children.” Brienne blushed and immediately seemed to regret her words. “If that’s what _you_ want, of course …”

“I want that very much.” He had to pause to wipe at unexpected tears. “But let’s leave that to the gods, we have a feast to get to.”


	16. The State of the Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No good news.

Jaime and Brienne were rumpled but presentable as they emerged into the twilight. Pod, Arya and Gendry had made a little fire, around which they were gathered. Lord Edric had joined them, and all four raised their drinking horns when they saw the couple. Brienne went beet red, but Jaime basked in the freedom of not having to hide his love. He sauntered up to the young companions and clapped Pod on the shoulder.

“Will you all be coming to the feast?”

“Aye, Ned and I will be a little late though. He’s to help me return all m’lady’s winnings while the knights are occupied.”

“Then we’ll await you there.” He returned to Brienne and offered her his arm. “I love it when you’re chivalrous,” he murmured with a kiss to her cheek.

“Well I didn’t enter the joust to win _ransoms_.” She squeezed his arm, and they laughed all the way to the feasting field.

Lanterns and torches ringed the dozens of tables arranged upon the grass. The stars spread above, and a soft, warm breeze carried a hundred conversations and the clear voice of a minstrel. Arya and Gendry found seats among the smallfolk, close enough to watch the head table, but too far to overhear anything. 

When they reached the head table, Jaime was not shocked to find a place set for Brienne, right next to his; Lord Clifton must have been in on her plans all along. (Either that or she’d _stolen_ her horse, shield, lances and tent.) Cal rose to greet them, waving over servers with bowls of creamy mushroom soup and slices of herbed bread.

“May I ask Lord Clifton to announce our betrothal?” inquired Jaime as he poured Brienne a cup of wine. He recalled, with grim amusement, that the last time they’d sat next to each other for dinner, they’d been across a table from Roose Bolton.

“So soon?” Her eyes went wide.

“Why wait?” He honestly could not think of a reason to do so. He was getting too old for a long engagement, and they weren’t breaking any laws or oaths. “Not ashamed of me, are you?” he joked. He knew perfectly well that there had been a time when she’d thought him no better than a particularly treacherous pond scum. But he could be reasonably sure those days had passed.

“I don’t think Cersei will be pleased to hear of it.”

“She won’t be pleased no matter when she hears of it. And I’ve spent my life thus far doing what would please Cersei … I don’t want to spend the rest of my life that way, too. But you’re right, of course. No need to cause any more of a stir than we already have.” There were more important matters to discuss, anyway. “So tell me, who taught you such precision with the lance? Usually a knight your size relies on his long reach, but every time you struck it was in the exact same spot, just over the heart. I’ve never seen such consistency.”

“My great-uncle Endrew, before he took the black ... I would gladly discuss technique with you all night, ser, but it seems Lord Calvyn is trying to get your attention.” 

Jaime looked to his other side to find Cal waiting with a look of patient anticipation. _Damn_ he thought. _I’d forgotten about the politics._ Preparing himself to be both bored and confused for the rest of the feast, Jaime shrugged. “Get on with it, then. Is Euron king yet?”

“No, thank the gods.” Cal sneered. “Her grace has managed to delay the marriage for many months. It is set to take place within a fortnight, though. Her wedding barge will depart Casterly Rock a few days hence.” 

“She’s at the _Rock_?” Jaime coughed his wine back up, burning the back of his nose. He’d gone out in public under the assumption that Cersei wouldn’t hear of it before he and his friends had departed. This was a most unwelcome complication, but not an insurmountable one. They’d just have to move faster. “Tell me of Dorne,” he urged, suddenly concerned with their destination. “Who are they serving these days?”

“It had been reported at the time that the Sand Snakes killed all the Martells, but apparently they only locked Doran’s daughter in a tower as a hostage against some of the more reluctant houses. Arianne has nominally sided with the Iron Throne. They both had reason to despise the short-lived Sand Snake regime, but rumors abound that the princess despises Cersei just as much.”

“How fare the other kingdoms? I left before anyone had been given the Reach.”

“It still has not been given. She’s made Orton Merryweather Warden of the South, but Highgarden stands empty. Your aunt Genna remains at Riverrun, and Edmure Tully remains her prisoner.”

“Her husband was murdered with all his kin, was he not?” Reports of the massacre had been feverish and varied at the time. He’d hoped for his aunt’s sake that some of her Freys had been spared, though he could muster no sympathy for the men on their own.

“Her husband and all her sons. She’s in the market for a new Lord of the Riverlands, and quite a little flock of suitors has descended around her.”

“If I ever find out who did it … I’ll give them a stern talking to.” If he had a proper swordhand he could give his aunt more justice than that. Alas, he would never again be the gallant knight riding to the aid of wronged ladies. Not that he’d ever been that before … “Where has my sweet sister placed the Golden Company?” he redirected.

“Around King’s Landing, though a thousand or so accompanied her to the Rock.”

Cal would have gone on, but a lovely woman in blue satin approached the table and curtsied. Jaime _knew_ that he knew her, but couldn’t for the life of him remember how or why. He breathed a sigh of relief when Cal greeted her by name.

“Lady Jeyne, so good to see you. How fares Hugh?”

_Ah, yes,_ Jaime remembered. _Jeyne, one of Cersei’s childhood companions, a Farman, now Cal’s sister in law._

“He is well, my lord, but he grows tired and expects to take his leave soon.”

“He always grows tired when he loses a bet.” With an affectionate laugh, Cal lifted his cup to his younger brother who frowned back at him from the next table over.

“Before we go, though, I must offer Lord Jaime my sincerest congratulations.” Jeyne curtsied again, smiling sweetly.

“Congratulations?” Jaime lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

“On you new … nephew.”

She continued on about her hopes for Cersei’s health after the birth, but Jaime could no longer hear her. His heart had stopped beating, his limbs had gone stiff and cold. “Thank you, my lady,” he managed to mutter, a lifetime of etiquette lessons speaking for him. He threw a desperate glance at Cal and saw immediately that his friend had been trying to hold the revelation off as long as possible, guilt and sympathy warring in his eyes. “Excuse me, my lord, I don’t feel well.”

He stumbled away from his seat and through the feast, afraid he would fall to his knees and vomit in front of everyone. It was only with the touch of Brienne’s hand at his elbow that he made it to the darkness beyond.


	17. The Last Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion thickens the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give credit for the Tyrion theory here, but since I just put YouTube on in the background while I do stuff I rarely remember exactly where I heard things. Probably Talking Thrones.

_I thought she was lying …_

Jaime had believed her at first, when she’d placed her hand on her belly and given him _that_ smile. He’d felt such joy that it pained him. But when Cersei cast him aside, and the rest of humanity along with him, he’d only felt a fool. Of course she would say whatever she thought would keep him at her side, whatever she thought would buy mercy from her enemies. And, of course, her damned prophecy had rung in his ears all the way to Winterfell ...

When he and Brienne reached a secluded alley between two tents, Jaime paused to catch his breath. Brienne took him in her arms in silence, lending him her strength. She pressed a kiss into his hair.

“What happened?” Arya skidded to a halt beside them, pushing them apart and inspecting Jaime’s eyes for any sign of poison or illness.

“Cersei had a baby,” explained Brienne quietly.

“Oh.” Arya didn’t know an antidote for _that_. “Shit.”

The three of them made swiftly through the empty camp, avoiding the last of the fairground revels till they reached the godswood. Arya found the little door among the shrubbery, and a guard within led them back to their rooms.

They found that their friends had not missed out on the feasting, the dining table piled high with food. Sam, Gilly, the Hound and Missandei were deep into the meal, but Tyrion and Sansa were missing.

Without a word, Jaime crossed to his room and reached for the latch.

“I wouldn’t …” began Sam, but Jaime paid him no heed.

He burst through the door, far too upset to blush at finding man and wife, sweaty and naked beneath the sheets.

“You can _knock_ with your left hand, can’t you?” grumbled Tyrion as Sansa lifted her head from his shoulder and drew the sheets tighter to her chest.

“Cersei was really pregnant. She had the baby.” Jaime only just remembered to close the door before collapsing into the windowseat.

Tyrion sat up, exchanging a look of shock and dismay with his wife. They’d been as sure as Jaime in their disbelief after Cersei’s ultimate betrayal.

Sansa slipped out of bed and into her nightdress, then poured three generous cups of wine. “Boy or girl?” she asked gently.

“Boy. Gods, what am I to do?”

“Nothing,” answered Tyrion with a sad shrug. “We thought she was lying before, why should we believe her now? There might not even _be_ a baby. And if there is, how do we know it’s yours? She took a lover while you were imprisoned, she probably took one when you went north.”

“What if it _is_ mine? I all but abandoned my first three children, must I abandon the last as well?”

“You ‘abandoned’ them for their own safety.”

“They all died anyway!”

“You’re in the right, Ser Jaime,” Sansa interjected, trying to cut the argument off before it could begin in earnest. “You must do something, but surely you’re not thinking of returning to Cersei’s service …”

“No, never,” he swore. “But she’s at the Rock … I could go speak to her.”

“As the hog might speak to the butcher,” Tyrion sneered. “You must wait until we reach Starfall. We can only negotiate from a position of strength.”

“What good will Starfall do? Will Lord Dayne lend me Dawn? Shall I lead the charge against the fucking Golden Company? My son-”

“If it _is_ your son-”

“ _My lords_!” Sansa barked. “At the very least, the child is nephew to us all, and he shall be delivered from Cersei’s clutches as quickly as possible. How best to save him is all that needs be discussed.”

An uncomfortable moment followed while everyone sipped their wine and failed to come up with any plans.

Tyrion sighed. “There’s something else …” He looked as bad as Jaime felt, face twisted in something like shame. “When I convinced Cersei to send troops, or rather when I _tried_ to convince her … Well, I had to promise her something in return, obviously …” He drained his cup and began again. “When I suggested it to her, I was desperate, I didn’t think she’d agree to it, and then when she did … It might not even be a consideration anymore; she didn’t hold up her end of the bargain after all ...”

“Just say it,” Sansa sighed, “or I’ll say it for you.”

Jaime was lost, glancing from one to the other, trying to understand.

“I brokered a marriage between Cersei’s child and Daenerys’s,” Tyrion finally spat, falling back against the pillows as if the confession had taken his last ounce of strength, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes.

“What in the Seven Hells possessed you …”

“Daenerys was convinced she couldn’t have children! I thought I was making an empty promise. Later I thought Cersei was lying, too, and that nothing would ever come of it.”

“If the gods grant you children,” Jaime fought to contain his anger, knowing that Tyrion had _meant_ no harm, “I pray no one sells them to your enemies.”

“I _am_ sorry.”

“It grows late, my lords,” said Sansa, ever sensible. “You should go eat some dinner … and send me Brienne.”

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued


End file.
